


Morning Routine

by AnnieVH



Series: Queens of Darkness Sitcom AU [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Family, Gen, Humor, Queens of Darkness, Rumbelle - Freeform, Woobie, anti milah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-12 23:13:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3358862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnieVH/pseuds/AnnieVH
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mornings are the worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning Routine

**Author's Note:**

> Verse: Queens of Darkness, a sitcom AU where Mr. Gold is forced to move in with his sister Ella.
> 
> Prompt by im-not-a-what (tumblr.com): Gold adjusts to a new morning routine.
> 
> Beta: maddiebonanafana as always. Thank you, Maddie!

Mornings are the worse. The rest of the day is just as bad, but mornings are the absolute worse. And it seemed that that one would be no exception.

Malcolm opened his eyes (first big mistake) and looked around the guest bedroom, taking in the collection of animal print and black and white furniture. It was all so tacky that he spent fifteen minutes staring at the ceiling and missing his own house. Ella could say pink was too feminine all she wanted;  _h_ _is_ bedroom was cozy, and it didn’t look like the lair of an evil Disney witch obsessed with zebras.

That room felt so unfamiliar that getting out of it (second big mistake) was always done in a hurry, despite knowing of what was waiting for him downstairs. Well, knowing  _who_  was waiting for him downstairs. Every morning, at the kitchen table, wearing that smug look on her face.

As always, Ella greeted him with a cheerful, “Hello, little big brother. How did you sleep?”

As always, he replied, “Horribly. Thank you for your concern.”

Her smile was still large and sparkling. “You’re so cranky. Here, have some coffee. I’ve made it especially for my little big brother.”

Malcolm simply stared at her. “Can you at least pretend you’re not enjoying this?”

“Enjoying what, brother dear?” she asked, cynically.

She would deny it for as long as she could throw in his face that she was only trying to be a good sister, but letting him stay with her had nothing to do with kindness and everything to do with resentment. She absolutely  _loved_  that her older brother was now depending on her mercy – the older brother whose last words to her had been “And don’t come knocking on my door the next time you’re in trouble!”

Well, who was in trouble now?

“Nothing,” he sighed, taking his coffee and waiting for everything to get worse. Usually, that came in the form of extensive questioning regarding his divorce. Ella’s favorite wounds to poke were “Is Milah still ignoring your calls?” and “Have you told your son yet?”. If she was feeling particularly vicious, she’d ask if his assets were still frozen or had he been granted access to his small fortune once again.

Invariably, the answers for the past five days had been “yes”, “not yet”, and “if that had happened, I wouldn’t still be here”. Her response was usually a pout and an optimistic, “Oh well, I’m sure things will get better soon! Talk about bad timing, huh?”

Bad timing.

He had sold all his properties with an early retirement in mind. He didn’t expect to be served divorced papers as soon as the last apartment was transferred to another name. Nor did he expect the judge to restrict access to all bank accounts until the divorce was finalized. And he sure as  _hell_  didn’t expect Milah to change the locks and start ignoring him with nothing but a “I’d rather you spoke to my solicitor from now on.”

Ella loved to hear the whole story, as a breakfast treat. But that morning, she was sipping on her coffee and eating her whole wheat bread and diet yogurt in silence. Had Malcolm been an optimistic man, he’d have taken that as a blessing. Being the pessimist he truly was, he took it as a sign that worse things were to come.

To prove him right, the doorbell rang and Ella announced, “Must be the girls. Isn’t it wonderful?”

He groaned out loud, politeness be damned. The “girls” were Ursula and Mal. Ella had introduced them on the second day of his stay in her apartment.

“Malcolm, these are Ursula and Mal. They’re my bee-eff-effs. Girls, this is my  _li_ _ii_ _ttle_  big brother Malcolm. His wife just dumped him, so he’s staying here for a while.”

One of them had said, “Ella! That is so nice of you!”

And the other had said, “What a bitch! I hope you have a good lawyer.”

He couldn’t remember which one was which.

Despite being in the room, nobody asked for his contribution. Ella and her friends took over the conversation, the both of them praising his sister’s good will, then remembering infamous divorces they had witnessed the past year or so. Out of courtesy, he sat in the living room and played the part of the perfect guest, gripping the arms of his chair and keeping his mouth shut. The women completely forgot about him in less than fifteen minutes, though, and passed on to more interesting topics, such as who was wearing the best dresses and who was cheating on whom. Slipping away was easy after that.

Much to his chagrin, Malcolm soon found out Ursula and Mal were frequent visitors to his sister’s penthouse. They’d show up every day for brunch and spend hours in the living room, gossiping about people they knew. The more vicious the gossip, the better. Sometimes, they’d join in Ella’s false worries about his well being, prying information about his divorce out of him.

In those moments, he’d excuse himself and go back to his bedroom, seething with anger. Thirty years struggling to guarantee a comfortable life for himself only to end up living with his superficial sister, who hadn’t worked a hard day in her life. Unless you call divorcing three times hard work.

“Isn’t it too early for brunch?” he asked, checking the clock on the wall.

“They aren’t here for brunch, my darling,” Ella said, pushing her chair back. “We’re reading the newspapers together.”

“They can read?” he quipped with a crooked smile.

“Indeed,” Ella replied, undismayed by his comment. “Would you like their help when your divorce papers arrive? Or are we still pretending Milah will change her mind?”

He glared at her.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

Ella left the kitchen to go open the door.

Malcolm wondered how much money he could make if he sold the Cadillac. He loved that car, but whatever it was worth, it’d surely be enough to afford a hotel room until Milah came around. She always did.

Or maybe he could sleep in the Caddy.

Or he could stop being stubborn and let Bae know he was in town.

He was still pondering his limited options when the three women came into the kitchen.

“Good morning, Malcolm! How did you sleep?”

“Look at you, all dressed up for breakfast. Is it a formal event and we were not aware of it?”

Malcolm tugged at his tie and said nothing, but stared at their clothes long enough to make a point.  _He_ was not the only one overdressed in that kitchen.

“Ursula and Mal came to see if you’re alright,” Ella said, sickeningly sweet. “Aren’t you going to say hello?”

“I’m still not sure which one is which.”

“Because we look so much alike?” the black woman said, making the other one laugh.

He rolled his eyes.

She raised her hand. “Ursula.”

The other raised her hand. “Mal.”

He replied much in the same fashion. “Indifferent.” He waved. “Cheers.”

“Lets go to the balcony,” Ella said, pulling her friends away. “Malcolm is Mr. Grumpy-Pants this morning.”

He knew growling wouldn’t help his case. He did it anyway.

None of them seemed bothered by it, much less intimidated.

“Do be nice to Belle when she shows up,” Ella said, heading for the balcony. “God forbid you scare her with your beastly disposition.”

“There’s another one?!” he cried after them, but they didn’t reply.

He couldn’t stay in there. If there was a fourth woman heading that way, with a sardonic grin on her face, a sweet voice, and a head tilt that made him feel like an infant – and if Ella was going to introduce him  _yet again_  as her  _liiittle_  big brother even though they were the same height – he couldn’t stick around and put himself through another round of torture. Not a fifth day in a row.

One could always take a walk. A long walk. Milah had his cellphone. And what were the odds of running into Baelfire in a city as big as New York? Really? That self-imposed enclosure was ridiculous, and it was not helping his sanity one bit.

From the balcony, the women started to cackle and he shivered. If anything, his sanity seemed to be hanging by a thread.

He took his cane and limped towards the living room.

To prove his good fortune yet again, someone knocked the moment he reached for the knob on the front door.

Wonderful, he thought, the fourth one is here.

He expected another forty-something in a tight dress to come bouncing into the room, maybe speaking with that same posh British accent Ella  _swore_  was her natural way of speaking – despite the fact that she was born and raised in Glasgow.

Instead, he was met by a pile of newspapers. Behind it, there was a little woman he couldn’t see the face of. The top of a brunette head peeked over the top of the tower she was carrying and, standing on the tip of his toes himself, he could see two blue eyes struggling to find him.

“Good morning. You must be Ms. Gold’s brother,” she said, breathless. “I’m Belle.”

In spite of the load she she had in her arms, Belle made an effort to balance everything in one arm and on one knee so she could extend a hand.

He didn’t take it.

“Who are you, the paper girl?”

“Personal assistant,” she corrected happily, pulling her hand back, unaffected by the rudeness in his voice.

“Right. And you’re carrying every newspaper in town because-”

“Because Ms. Gold asked me to.”

“So, she never reads the newspapers, but when she does, she reads every available one?”

“They happen to be fans of the Queens of Darkness.”

“Who?”

“Queens of Darkness,” she repeated, stressing the words. “It’s a very popular gossip column that’s in four different-”

“I really don’t care, dearie. Just get in and get it over with.”

He stepped aside. When she entered, he snatched the newspaper on top of the pile. “I’ll keep this one.”

She literally  _gasped_  in horror. From that angle, he could see Belle’s face shadowed by the papers. A pretty girl of twenty something, absolutely outraged at his insolence.

“But this isn’t-” she tried.

He didn’t give her the chance. “My sister can’t read this fast, dearie. Now run along.”

Belle glared at him, but when she crossed the room, she had her chin up, as if mean old men couldn’t break her spirit. She was the proud assistant of Ella Gold, and that was a good thing to be. Even if that meant carrying a pile of newspapers as big as (and probably heavier than) herself, while strutting in high heels.

Dear lord, he thought, where does she find these people?

**Author's Note:**

> Picspam: http://annievh.tumblr.com/post/109471145402/queens-of-darkness-sitcom-au-malcolm-gold
> 
> Still taking prompts for this verse.


End file.
